Читать книгу To Heal a Heart - Arlene James - Страница 11

Mitchell was astounded. The most interesting, attractive woman he’d met in years was Ransome and Charlotte Wynne’s daughter! How amazing was that? The Wynnes were personal heroes of his. He could only shake his head at the thought of it. His parents would be as blown away as he was—if he told them. When he told them, he amended mentally, because of course he would tell them. Eventually.

They might jump to all kinds of unwarranted conclusions if he let that particular cat out of the bag too soon, so he had to think carefully about the timing of it. He didn’t want to disappoint them, to get them thinking that he’d found the woman God intended for him, only to come to the conclusion later that such was not the case. Better to see how things developed first.

Eager for that, he wondered when he’d see Piper again, and then realized that he’d let her get away without asking for her telephone number or offering his own. Lifting a hand to the back of his neck, he bemoaned his own thoughtlessness, but then he chuckled. He’d see her again if he was supposed to, maybe as soon as Sunday.

He decided that if she showed up at church he’d introduce her to his parents as the daughter of Ransome and Charlotte Wynne. If she didn’t, he’d wait to impart this interesting tidbit until after the next development, provided there was another development. Surely there would be. Surely.

Maybe not romantic developments, though. He sensed a skittishness in her, an uncertainty, as if she weren’t quite sure if she liked him. Then again, even if she did like him, that was no guarantee she’d be attracted to him, let alone fall in love. With so much thinking ahead, he felt a little deflated.

Maybe he’d wait to see if she came to church before talking about her again to his parents.

A car horn blared. Feeling a little disoriented, he glanced around him, then lifted his arm to check his watch. He had time to stroll back to the office, but instead he found himself hurrying, as if he could make the day go faster and Sunday come sooner.

Piper sighed as she punched in the code that allowed her access to her apartment. A feeling of oppression enveloped her; it wasn’t even relieved when she reached shelter. Leaden skies threatened to release their burden of rain any moment. Piper refused to think the oppression might be guilt. She was absolutely determined to be finished with guilt. Why should she feel guilty just because she’d decided to attend a church other than Mitchell Sayer’s?

Frankly, it hadn’t been a very uplifting experience, even though the people there had seemed friendly. The music had been familiar, and she couldn’t quibble with the pastor’s sermon or delivery, but she hadn’t felt any “connection.” So what? she asked herself. At least she could scratch that particular church off her figurative list. Besides, she didn’t owe Mitch Sayer anything. As a matter of fact, she didn’t owe anyone anything, not anymore. She was a free agent. Completely free. She didn’t have to go to church at all if she didn’t want to.

Piper trudged past the stairwell leading to the second floor of the small, recently refurbished apartment house and moved into the open courtyard beyond. She’d rented here because she’d been able to view the apartment over the Internet and because she’d imagined that the waterfall at one end of the swimming pool would provide constant, calming background noise. Not today, however. The soft plinking sounds were more from the gloomy rainfall than the fountain.

She dashed to her front door, keys in hand, and wrestled with the lock. By the time she got the door open and swept inside, she was thoroughly misted with rain. Closing the door firmly behind her, she put her back to it and let out a deep sigh.

Silence surrounded her, accenting the emptiness she felt. She shrugged out of her sweater, hung it on the doorknob and plopped down on the rented sofa. Recriminations pummeled her. She should have gone to Mitch’s church. She should have gone where she knew someone, but she hadn’t because he knew who her parents were, and she was so tired of trying to live up to everyone’s ideal of who she should be. Being the brave and saintly Wynnes’ daughter was more than she could manage just now, perhaps more than she could ever manage again. She wished Mitchell Sayer didn’t know, wished she could be just anyone’s daughter and sister. She wished it for her parents’ and brother’s sakes as well as her own.

It was impossible to change who she was, though, so the best she could do was to change her life. That much she could, would manage. She sat up a little straighter, remembering that one of her neighbors had invited her over for dinner this evening to meet her husband.

Melissa Ninever was a few years younger than Piper, maybe twenty-three or -four, and newly married—a tall, slender young woman with an engaging smile and streaky, light brown hair in a short, trendy cut. Melissa had gone out of her way to make Piper’s acquaintance. Her husband, Scott, apparently worked a lot of overtime as a shipping scheduler. Melissa herself worked as a clerk at a rental agency just a few miles up the road and seemed to find herself at loose ends quite a lot. She seemed to need a friend as much as Piper did—and she had no idea that Ransome and Charlotte Wynne were revered the world over for their missionary service.

It was Day Thirteen of her new life, and already Piper had made a friend. That was a good beginning—enough for now. The rest would come, surely. Otherwise, why would she have so easily found a job and an apartment via the Internet even before she had set foot in Dallas? They were confirmation, in her mind, that she had made the right decision. For whatever reason, God wanted her out of Houston. Perhaps if she had listened more closely and been more sensitive to His urgings, she and her family could have been spared the pain of these past weeks and months.

Perhaps she would not have made such unforgivable mistakes.

She bowed her head, but confusion swirled through her, blocking any coherent thought that she might have lifted in prayer, so she got up, walked into the small, single bedroom and began changing into casual clothes, pondering how to fill the next few hours. Lunch had to be prepared, of course, and then cleaned up. For the life of her, though, she couldn’t think of any other way to fill the time until she was expected at the Ninevers’ upstairs apartment.

The afternoon suddenly seemed as bleak as the weather, but she busied herself flipping channels on the rented television and choosing from her meager wardrobe the next week’s outfits. She didn’t want to show up for work week after week in the same few articles of clothing. Finally she brushed out her thick, wavy hair, slid a bright blue elastic band over her forehead to hold it in place, put on a matching shirt with her jeans and stepped into her loafers.

Melissa had said to come casual, but Piper wanted to make a good impression on her friend’s husband, so she added a pair of simple gold hoop earrings and a bangle bracelet, as well as mascara and a touch of pale coral lipstick. Taking along an umbrella this time, she climbed the corner stairs and followed the landing to the Ninevers’ door. Melissa greeted her with a bright smile, and Piper allowed herself to be pulled into the colorful apartment strewn with lava lamps, beaded curtains and tie-dyed fabrics straight out of the early 1970s.

Scott Ninever might have been a year or so older than his young wife, but his sideburns, pale shaggy hair and baggy clothes made him seem younger, as did the inch or so in height that Melissa obviously had on him. His friendly, open manner and kooky sense of humor soon put Piper at ease, and she found him every bit as accepting and intelligent as his wife.

Dinner proved to be nothing more than frozen lasagna and prepackaged salad, which they ate sitting cross-legged on the floor around a large, square coffee table in the living area. Modern rock emanated from a wall-sized stereo system. The dining nook was occupied by a desk and an impressive array of computer equipment that looked right at home with the seventies memorabilia and minimalist metal furniture.

An uncomfortable moment came when the dinner lay spread out on the unconventional dining table and the three of them had arranged themselves comfortably around it. From sheer habit, Piper bowed her head in expectation of a blessing. At least a couple seconds ticked by before she realized that her new friends were carrying on with filling plates and pouring drinks. Realizing her assumptions were erroneous, she quickly picked up her napkin and spread it in her lap, keeping her head down until the burn of color in her cheeks cooled somewhat.

If the Ninevers even noticed, they were too polite to let it be known, and she was soon laughing as Scott lip-synced to the music and played air guitar with his fork while somehow managing to eat his dinner. After the meal, Melissa and Scott quickly cleaned up, working as smoothly together as if they’d been doing so for decades, while Piper sat at the counter separating kitchen from dining-cum-office area and admired Melissa’s display of hand-painted tin plates. Next they coaxed her into a silly game of dominoes, again to the accompaniment of rock music and Scott’s gyrations.

Reluctantly Piper rose to leave just before ten, warmed when first Melissa then Scott kissed her cheek. She was almost out the door when Melissa stopped her, saying, “Hey, why don’t you come with us to the arboretum next Sunday?”

“Hey, yeah, bet you haven’t been out there yet,” Scott added.

“It’s really neat,” Melissa told her. “Of course, it’s prettiest in the spring, but there’s still lots to see.”

“It’s, like, serene, you know,” Scott put in, “and they do concerts on the lawn—classical mostly, some folky stuff, too. You really ought to see it.”

“Bring a book,” Melissa suggested. “We’ll just veg out.”

“Guaranteed to relieve stress,” Scott said enticingly.

Piper smiled. What could it hurt? It wasn’t as if anyone would miss her if she didn’t attend church somewhere. Besides, it was just one Sunday. She nodded. “I’d like that.”

Melissa gave a little hop and clapped her hands together, which made Scott smile.

“Oh, you’re going to love it,” Melissa promised. “We’ll hook up later and fix what time to meet, okay?”

“Sure. Thanks for the invitation, and for a great evening.” Piper started toward the stairs, adding, “Next time, my place.”

“Right on,” Scott called heartily. “Have a good one!”

“You, too.”

She went down the steps feeling pleased. She had made two friends. Life was improving already.

“Mr. Adler, you don’t know how much I appreciate this,” Mitch said, shaking the older man’s hand across the gleaming expanse of a very vice-presidential desk.

“Must be some letter you found,” Craig Adler said as he dropped into a sumptuous tan leather chair, exposing a large bald spot in the thinning gray hair on top of his head. “Your father says that you wish to retain possession of it until the owner is found.” He waved Mitch into one of three matching leather chairs arranged in a slight arc in front of his desk. Mitch folded himself into the nearest one.

“That’s correct. I haven’t shared the letter with anyone other than my parents, and I don’t intend to. It’s a privacy issue, you understand.”

Adler smiled. “Spoken like a true lawyer, and frankly, the privacy issue is a real concern to us.”

Mitch nodded. “I’m aware that you can’t just turn over the flight manifest to me.”

“I’m glad you understand that.”

“And I also realize that you have no vested interest in seeing the letter go back to its original owner,” Mitch added.

“You’re right. Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t reunite every lost item that we find with its owner. Just holding items of value for claim is a real financial burden, so the less the airline has to do with this the better. But I don’t see any real reason not to send out a notice informing everyone on the manifest that a personal item of no actual monetary value has been recovered and is being held for the owner by you. Provided we can agree on the ground rules.”

Mitch smiled. It was more than he’d dared hope for, really. “You just tell me how it has to play. We can even spell it out in writing, if you like.”

“I’ll send you a memo when we’re done here,” Adler said, making a note on a legal pad. “And I have to tell you that I wouldn’t do this for just anyone. Even with assurance that nothing in this letter you’ve found could be construed as a legal risk for the airline, I wouldn’t normally go against company practice like this, not even for a personal friend, but I know your father, and he says this is important.”

“I’m very grateful, sir, and I’d like to add my reassurance to Dad’s. This won’t come back to bite you, I promise. My sole intent is to return the letter to its owner. Anything beyond that is strictly up to that individual.”

“Meaning?”

Mitch shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t want to give away too much, but he realized that Adler was sticking his neck out here. Choosing his words carefully, he said, “Criminal law is not my only area of expertise. After Anne died, I got involved in a counseling program that has become something of a personal ministry for me. I think this person might benefit from that.”

Craig Adler tapped a finger on the corner of his desk consideringly before nodding. “All right. Fair enough. But what happens if the person who contacts you isn’t the owner of the letter?”

“It seems to me permissible to ask if a contact saw someone else drop a folded sheet of paper on the loading ramp and, if so, who. I might get at least a description that way.”

Adler nodded. “All right.”

Mitch shifted forward. “Would it be okay, do you think, if I asked for the names of anyone traveling with the contact so I could perhaps interview them?”

“Hmm, I suppose, but at no time may you represent yourself as connected to the airline per se.”

“Absolutely not. And I promise to document every contact.”

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that some folks may refuse to speak to you, and you have to respect that.”

“Of course. It goes without saying.”

“Then we understand each other.”

“Yes, sir, I believe we do.”

“Then I’ll have my secretary send the notifications out early next week.”

“Thank you, sir.” Mitch rose, aware that he’d infringed on this busy man’s time, and again offered his hand. Adler didn’t bother getting up, just leaned forward and briefly clasped Mitch’s hand again.

“If you don’t mind me saying so,” Adler began, sitting back again, “you don’t fit my stereotype of a criminal defense attorney.”

Mitch smiled thinly. “I can swim with the sharks when it’s necessary.”

“Your track record tells me that. All the more reason for my surprise. You seem a very compassionate sort.”

“Let me ask you a question,” Mitch proposed. “If you were in legal trouble, guilt or innocence aside, wouldn’t you want a caring, passionate advocate in your corner?”

Adler’s mouth crooked up. “Point taken.”

“Thank you again, sir, and if I can ever return the favor, I will, God forbid.”

Adler chuckled. “Just let me know how it turns out, will you?”

“As best I can,” Mitch promised.

Adler inclined his head. “Always the lawyer. Good enough. Tell that lazy old man of yours that I’m still waiting for that golf game he promised me. And be sure to leave your address and phone number with my secretary on your way out.”

“Will do,” Mitch promised, and went out the door.

He dropped a business card with the attractive young secretary at the desk in the outer office, wished her a nice day and pushed through heavy glass doors to the private elevator just outside. As the elegant, cherry-paneled car whisked toward the ground below, he thanked God for making this possible. He had to believe that he would soon be looking into the eyes of someone who might really need him right now.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Piper gasped, bending forward at the hip, her hands on her knees. Straightening, she reached behind her to pull up a toe and loosen her hamstring.

“I can’t believe you kept up so well,” Melissa said between gulps of air.

“Oh, please.” Piper brought her hands to her hips, feeling the springy fabric of workout tights beneath her fingertips. “You were running slower than usual.”

Melissa shook her head. “No way. Well, maybe at first, but only at first.”

Pleased, Piper lifted an arm over her head and bent sideways from the waist, stretching tight muscles. “I am going to be so sore tomorrow!”

“Just stretch out again before you go to bed tonight,” Melissa advised, bending and grabbing her ankles. “A little time in the pool wouldn’t hurt, either.”

“Before or after dinner?”

“Before. I’ll have Scott grill us some burgers while we loll.”

“Only if I can bring the buns and fixings.”

“Deal.”

Piper linked her hands behind her and lifted them as high as she could. Melissa straightened and eyed her enviously. “Honestly, I’d kill for that figure.”

Piper dropped her arms and looked down at herself. “This figure is why I let you browbeat me into getting up at the crack of dawn to pound the pavement.”

“It’s about health, not looks,” Melissa reminded her. “Not that there’s a vain bone in your body.”

“Or yours,” Piper returned. “Besides, why would you want to be anything other than what you are when Scott thinks you’re perfect?”

Melissa grinned. “Why do you think I married him? Hey, how come you’re not with anyone?”

Piper shrugged. “I never really had the time to meet guys before, and now I wouldn’t have the slightest idea where to look, frankly.”

Melissa cut her a sideways glance and mopped her face with the tail of her T-shirt. “Then what would you think about meeting a friend of Scott’s?”

Piper instantly pictured a goateed, beatnik type. “Oh, I don’t know.”

“Actually,” Melissa went on, “Nate is Scott’s boss. He’s almost thirty, real outgoing, kind of a conservative dresser, never been married, makes good money, not bad looking, either, if you like them big and beefy.”

For some reason the picture in Piper’s mind dissolved and reformed into the image of Mitchell Sayer. Now, where had that come from? She shook her head. Melissa took it for refusal.

“Aw, come on. What’ve you got to lose?”

“I’ll think about it,” Piper promised, heading for her apartment door. “See you later. Provided I can still move.”

“Burgers right here by the pool,” Melissa reminded her. “And he really is a good guy!”

“I said I’ll think about it.” Piper tossed the words over her shoulder. But what was there to think about really?

Melissa and Scott were her only friends. Oh, she’d eaten lunch with some of the women at work this week, but no one seemed inclined to socialize outside the office. She enjoyed the time she spent with the Ninevers. The arboretum had proven very enjoyable indeed. Surely she could trust their judgment when it came to this Nate fellow, and she really did want to meet someone special, even though she seldom let herself think about it. She cringed at the thought of a blind date, but she really ought to be more open to the possibilities. After all, what was the point in starting a new life if she kept holding on to the same old attitudes?

She knew that she was going to agree before she even finished her shower and got dressed for work, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of trepidation. All day long she kept trying to find excuses for refusing to meet Scott’s friend. In the end, however, she couldn’t make herself be that dishonest. No good reason existed for not meeting this Nate. She decided to tell Scott at dinner that she would be pleased to meet his friend.

After the bus let her off in front of the apartment house, she hobbled straight to the mailbox in the common area and unlocked her cubby, as was her custom. Most of what she received consisted of circulars and advertisements, but when she came across a letter from the airline upon which she’d flown from Houston, she decided to check it out, although it was probably just a credit card offer or some such thing. Carefully inserting a fingernail beneath the flap, she tore open the envelope and unfolded the single page within.

To her surprise it wasn’t some advertising gimmick. Instead it was a note from the office of the vice president saying that a personal article of no real monetary value had been recovered by a third party interested only in returning it to its owner. Anyone having lost such a personal item was instructed to call a local telephone number or write to a local post office box. Piper shook her head. She hadn’t lost anything that she knew of—at least nothing that could be returned to her. She dropped the letter into the trash can along with the other junk and headed for her apartment as swiftly as her sore, tight muscles would allow.

By Tuesday of the following week, Mitch had received three replies to the airline mailing—two phone calls from Dallas-area residents and a letter from Houston. The letter writer claimed to have lost a valuable family heirloom in the form of a large diamond ring, despite the airline’s specific wording of the notice. Mitch shot off a letter stating, once again, that the item recovered was of no monetary value and definitely not a ring. He suggested that the writer submit a properly documented claim to the airline, while privately doubting that the ring had ever existed.

The telephone calls were no more helpful. One call came from a nervous newlywed whose private honeymoon video had probably never made it on the airplane in the first place. The other came from a wary older gentleman who wouldn’t say what he’d lost or give Mitch his full name or address, so Mitch suggested that they meet in a public place.

The man chose a popular Greenville Avenue restaurant, and they set a time for early Friday evening. Mitch felt cautiously optimistic, but it turned out that the fellow had lost his Social Security card and didn’t want his daughter to know.

“She thinks I’m the next thing to senile as it is,” the grandfatherly man explained.

Mitch advised him to contact the local police and the Social Security Administration immediately, as well as all three national credit reporting agencies and the administrator of his pension checks.

“It’s a hassle, but it’s the only way to protect yourself, identity theft being such a problem these days. And if you find out someone’s been using your information to make purchases or apply for credit cards, let me know right away. I’ll go with you to file a report and help you clear your name and credit.”

He gave the man his business card, brushed aside his expressions of gratitude and asked if he had seen anyone drop a piece of paper while boarding the plane. Like the newlywed, the gentleman answered in the negative, but he suggested that Mitch ask a friend who had accompanied him on the flight. Mitch jotted down the name and telephone number that was supplied, then insisted on buying the fellow a glass of iced tea and an appetizer. He politely refused Mitch’s offer of dinner, so Mitch dined alone, disappointed that he was no closer to finding the owner of the letter, though it was early days yet.